Our Heaven
by NayaWarbler
Summary: Set sometime after Cas gets his grace back. Dean is badly injured during a hunt, and he and Cas have a heart-to-heart about it. In honour of September 18. M for language and references to violence.


Soap-suds turned pink as Dean scrubbed vigorously at the stain on his shirt with the sponge Sam had insisted they buy when they first moved into the bunker. Of course, Dean had mocked him relentlessly, saying there was no way they would possibly need it, but what Sam hadn't wanted to say in the crowded superstore was that they had a home now, and home meant stability, and stability meant not throwing out every t-shirt that returned stained with blood, whether it be their own or something else's.

This particular time, the blood happened to be his own, and the t-shirt happened to be his favourite. No way in hell was he throwing it out.

Hence the sponge.

"I've lost track of how many times you have almost died on my watch, Dean," cracked their angel roommate in his trademark gravelly tenor. The humorous lilt of his voice was strained, poorly concealing remnants of panic and exhaustion.

"Not now, Cas. Please." Dean faltered, muscles tensed as he clutched the edge of the sink. His bare chest rose and fell at twice the usual speed, and a long vein along his temple glared at the bubbles. The standard signs of his temper flaring out of control.

Castiel hesitated, debating whether or not to come closer. "Dean—"

The man turned sharply, hurling the sponge at the splotchy wall. It struck, producing an oddly harsh sound for something as soft as itself — a testament to the man's frustration. A snarl escaped his lips.

"I can't get this fucking stain out," he roared, kicking the laundry basket across the room.

Cas approached, resolving to put personal space aside and calm down his friend. "Dean, stop."

"No, Cas, I won't fucking stop," he bellowed, stepping close enough that the breath that had just been inside his lungs now brushed against Castiel's skin. He froze, breath laboured, before jerking away and staring at the ruined cloth, fists clenching. "Damn shirt."

Shaking his head, Cas manoeuvred himself around Dean, gathering the shirt in his hands. There was a stain, yes — but it diverged from a hole that could certainly not be patched with a sponge. He winced as he fingered the fraying edges, fighting the flashes of memory that bombarded his mind. No matter how many times he had seen it, the image of a knife piercing Dean's chest would never cease to break Castiel's heart.

His palm covered the torn fabric, and beneath his skin, it glowed, a soft blue light emerging from his skin. As he removed it, the shirt gleamed, just as fixed as it had been broken. There was no trace of blood in the cloth, only the verdant green that made something in Dean's face seem brighter, made Cas never want to look away.

He'd fixed it, just like he'd tried to fix Dean.

Castiel handed him the shirt without looking him in the eyes. A silent refuse to acknowledge Dean's anger lingered in the air between them, and Cas pretended not to see the tightness with which Dean held the shirt in his fists. Little sounds expanded to fill the room — the drip of the tap, the distant whirr of the bunker's power system, the rush of the pipes overhead.

"Oh," Dean whispered, breaking the quiet. Cas nodded, a lightness around him as he let himself start to forget the painful memory. Instead of putting the shirt back on, Dean gently touched his chest, as though feeling for the phantom wound. "It still hurts," he breathed, vulnerability in his words. "Even now, after all this time."

"It's only been a few hours," Castiel replied pragmatically. "Even with Angel mojo, it could conceivably still be painful, even if only in the mind."

"That's not what I mean," Dean said. Their eyes met, and Castiel understood. After years of hunting, somehow Dean thought he was weak for still… what? Feeling pain? Being human?

He took another step closer, and finally the two men were close enough to be one. "I never want to hear that you don't feel the pain," Cas confessed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Because even though I would never want you to feel it, I know that there is only one escape, and that is the last thing I would ever want."

"My whole life has been pain, Cas. You'd think by now I wouldn't feel it."

"There is always pain." He sighed. "There always will be."

Dean's eyes hardened. "Because I'm human."

"No," Cas interrupted. "Because you're alive. Do you think I don't feel pain? Even as an Angel of the Lord? I've been both angel and human, Dean, and I can tell you that, while it may be different things that cause it, the pain is just the same."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head softly against Cas's hand on his shoulder. "So you say that the only escape from pain is death."

"Yes."

"But I've been dead, and so have you," he pointed out, knot in his throat growing. "We've been to heaven, hell, and back. And the biggest fucking lie I've ever heard is that there is no pain in heaven."

Cas smiled sadly. "I like to think that by the time you go for good, there will be no pain there anymore. That everything will be fixed and peace will be restored."

"And you'll be the one to fix it?"

His smile morphed into a serious expression, eyes heavy and focused on the man in front of him. "I will do everything to make sure that your heaven is ready for you, Dean Winchester."

"But why?" Dean asked, holding back anything inside of him that was fighting its way to the surface. "Why do all of that? Heaven might have been your home, but do you really want to go back there?"

"I… I haven't decided yet." The muscles in his back tensed, pronounced by his thin t-shirt. Cas turned away, facing the door and said, genuinely, "You're welcome for the shirt."

His reply was incoherent, but it didn't matter — Castiel had disappeared. And he hadn't used the door, or his feet for that matter. With the rushing sound of ethereal wings breaking through the barrier, he'd taken off, like he always did. He'd run away. Again.

Dean tore himself from the room, abandoning the fixed t-shirt on the cold, tiled floor. Searching the bedroom wing, he opened his door first, then the other one… but Cas wasn't in the room next to Dean's, the one he had put his few possessions in but still refused to call his own. Cursing under his breath, Dean slammed the door shut behind him and sat on Castiel's bed, putting his hands together under his chin.

"Listen here you winged bastard, you don't get to do this anymore. Okay? You don't get to run away from me — from us, from home anymore. I swear if you do I'll unleash my inner soccer mom and file a fucking missing persons report, and I think we all know how that would end." He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his jaw to release some tension. His voice broke, quiet and muffled as it struggled past his throat. "Fuck, Cas. Just, please…"

After a moment of unanswered silence, he sighed, exhausted. Every part of his body was heavy, his muscles were worn, and his heart was overworked. And he really didn't mean to, honest, but the soft, white linen of his pillow looked so inviting, like the feathers of a bird, and his head was lolling already, and he could only be so strong for so long…

The unused pillow accepted his head like it was meant to be there, and he curled up on his side, holding his knees against his bare chest as it rose and fell softly. He wasn't asleep, but just there, slowly fading away from the overwhelming reality on the other side. As he faded, so did the sharp pain in his chest, until it was just a hum, reminding him not to fall asleep because there was no one there to protect him.

Then a gentle ruffle of feathers followed by the dip in the bed took away that hum, too, for the first time in a long time. Cas didn't touch him, only laid on his back with his palms flat against his stomach, listening to the content heartbeat from the man who had been seconds from death merely hours ago. All it took was that heartbeat to remind him that nothing would ever take away Castiel's hum, as long as Dean Winchester was alive and therefore capable of dying too soon, while everything was still in ruins. But he didn't mind the hum, because it also reminded him of his only mission, his purpose. It reminded him of his love.

While Dean had never been more content, more blissed out than by his angel's side, his skin still tingled as Cas's arm brushed his. It felt good, the tingle, so he rolled over and sought it out. As though on instinct, Cas's arms opened up for him, and his head found refuge on the angel's shoulder, hands resting on his chest. And even though it was everything Cas had ever wanted, he still found himself wanting to make sure Dean was in his head and not somewhere else.

"Dean," he whispered, hands hovering so as not to obtrude on the man's space (despite the fact that, yes, he was half on top of him). "Dean, are you awake?"

The man in question groaned quietly, the vibration into his shirt making Cas chuckle. The angel called his name again, and Dean opened his eyes with much effort. "Whadda ya want, Cas?"

"To make sure you're okay," he replied straightaway.

Understanding seeped into Dean's sleepy eyes, and a gentle blush spread across his cheeks. He tensed slightly, but didn't move. "Uh, yeah, man. I'm good. Are you?"

Cas smiled brightly, but toned it back so as not to frighten the lethargic man. "Always."

They stayed like that for a minute more, or two, three. Cas would have been happy like that forever, but he sensed a hesitancy in Dean, and he was another sign away from setting him down on the other side of the bed and just watching over him as he slept. He would have been content either way, really. He just wanted Dean to be happy, peaceful. Not only safe, but also feeling safe, because those were two very different things.

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something, but held back. Cas just couldn't have that.

"What is it, Dean?" he asked, tensing himself to move away quickly if needed.

"Nothing, really, it's just…" Dean hesitated, the blush on his cheeks growing darker. "You don't have to hold your hands in the air like that." He motioned to Cas's arms, which hovered as he didn't know where to put them with a chestful of Dean Winchester.

"Oh," Cas replied intelligently. He set them down on the mattress on either side of Dean. It felt quite awkward, even for him. "Is that better?"

"Not really," he muttered. "That can't be comfortable, man. Just…" He reached behind himself, grabbing Cas's arm and slinging it over his side. Tentatively, Cas brought his other hand up and placed it on his own chest, fingers inches from Dean's.

Cas relaxed, knowing now that Dean wasn't going to run away from him. The least he could do was reciprocate. Still, Dean wouldn't meet his eyes, and he was almost certain that all the blood in the upper half of his body had migrated to his cheeks. Wanting to assuage the man's nerves, Cas gently, hesitantly traced his thumb over Dean's hand. At first he tensed, but he slackened in seconds, as though he had finally given up trying to fight it.

"Are you comfortable like this, Dean?" Cas asked boldly, although his voice was more full of adoration than any kind of boldness.

"Y-yeah," Dean whispered, fingers clenching the angel's shirt. "Are you?"

Cas grinned again. "I am, actually. This is the closest to comfort I've felt since being human."

Dean snorted. "If you were human right now, you'd probably be pretty uncomfortable." After a beat, he realized how that sounded and his cheeks flushed darker than Cas had ever seen them. "Uh, I just meant, you know, because my head is on your arm, and your arm would probably go numb you know, like from the blood and all that-"

Cas cut him off with a beautiful, boisterous laugh that shook both Dean's heart and his body, which was ensconced in the angel's vibrating arms. He joined in, laughing loudly until they both sounded like maniacs and the burning in his face was more from the strain in his cheek muscles than from the heat of embarrassment. They settled after a few vibrant moments back into their soft silence, revelling in a new familiarity.

"Do you ever want that?" Dean murmured hesitantly. "You know, to be human again?"

"Sometimes," Cas replied after a moment. "Not a lot. Just in those moments, you know. The times you make Sam a burger and look at me like you wish I could try it and taste what you taste instead of just molecules. The times after a long hunt when we get back to the bunker and all you want to do is go take a hot shower and fall asleep, when I remember what it feels like to be really, truly tired, how satisfying it is to finally get that rest. When you have a drink and you become so… carefree, uninhibited. I wonder how I would be like that."

Dean was silent. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Cas defended. "You know when I don't miss being human? When you or Sam get hurt and I get to be the one to save you. When you call me to help you with a case because I have abilities that can help people. When I get to watch over you at night and know that you are safe because I am powerful enough to make hell out of anything that tries to harm you or your brother. When I get to repay you for everything you've done for me. It makes it all worth it — the fall, the fights, losing my home."

The man's gaze intensified, and he sat up out of the embrace. "You didn't lose your home, Cas. This is your home, and you will never lose it. And I don't mean the bunker, I mean our family. You, me, Sam. Understand?"

The breath stopped in Cas's lungs and he lay back, stricken. Yes, he knew it. He just didn't know that he needed to hear it from Dean until now. "I do."

"Good. Because you'd better as hell join me and Sammy in our heavens."

Cas nodded solemnly. "I couldn't imagine anything else."

Dean relaxed back into Cas's arms, which wrapped around him now without hesitation. Thoughts ran wild in his mind as Cas traced patterns on his skin, but for once, none of them were frightened or apprehensive about his relationship with the angel. No, at that moment, all he was thinking about was their future, which was, without a doubt, together. There was no questioning that anymore.

"What would your heaven be like, Cas?" Dean inquired casually as they lay without disturbance on the angel's bed. "If you could have one made for you?"

It took the angel a moment to answer, pondering the question as though he'd never even considered the idea of him having his own heaven, which he probably hadn't. "I think… I'd like it to be peaceful. Not like the heaven I have known for millennia. Perhaps a long stretch of grass with gentle music, the warm sun on my human skin, nothing to fight, nothing to protect you from. Oh, and bees. And hamburgers." He stopped. "That's all I can think of. It seems I hadn't enjoyed much of the human variety while I had the chance. But it's all in vain, anyway. I will never have my own heaven."

Dean's eyes flickered in the darkness. "Well, all the more reason for you to stay in mine. I think it would definitely have all those things you described. Especially hamburgers."

Cas shook his head, incredulous. "Dean, you hate gentle music, and bees, and having nothing to fight. You would go crazy. That's not how your heaven should be."

"Cas, I…" He stopped short, staring up into the angel's eyes. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Always," Castiel echoed.

Dean took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "I think… I think the most important thing in my heaven wouldn't be the music, or the fights, or anything. I'd want it to be… somewhere you could be happy. Somewhere we could have a home."

Cas froze completely, yet somehow did not stiffen up. His body stilled in comfort, arms around Dean, relaxed yet unmoving. "You mean… together?"

"Yeah," he whispered, barely audible, into the angel's chest. "Because I…" He trailed off naturally, a look of realization crossing his face. Profound.

"You do," Cas breathed, intending it as a question but shifting somewhere into acceptance, understanding, complete and utter… everything. There were some things that were hard for Castiel to understand, but this was not one. He felt this in his soul that didn't exist, in his grace, in whatever part of him had touched Dean and whatever part of Dean had touched him. Profound. "I do, too."

And yes, something inside of Dean snapped into place when Cas whispered those precious words. So he closed his eyes, face still buried into Cas's shirt, and just… let it happen. Let things change. Let the world — no, their world, the one that they created — take control and make everything right.

When his lips met Cas's, neither with the knowledge of who moved first, the movement had been completed, and all they were left with was the utter perfection it created. And that wasn't just enough… it was everything.

For an angel, Cas's lips were certainly chapped despite being soft against his. He made a mental note to bring Cas to the grocery store with him so he could pick out a flavour of chapstick he liked, but the note was tossed into some distant corner of his mind as Cas pulled him on top of him, arms wrapped so tightly around his waist that Dean felt like he was melting into the angel's body. Dean's lips parted in a groan as Cas's palms explored his bare back roughly, grasping and smoothening and massaging. He decided that if this was the only fighting he got to do in heaven, he'd have no complaints whatsoever. As long as Cas was with him. As long as they were together.

Even to Cas it felt like an eternity before they pulled apart — Cas, who had lived for millennia — yet it still wasn't long enough. He thought that maybe he would never have enough time to explore every inch of Dean's skin, to hear every sound that Dean could make, to know every way he could know Dean. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't try, or that a thought like that upset him, because it didn't. The angel Castiel was nothing without a mission… and this was his new one.

"I can think of something else I want in our heaven," Cas muttered against Dean's lips.

"Hm?" Dean replied incoherently, struggling to compose himself enough to have even a short conversation.

"An open road, and the Impala," Cas finished, placing a soft kiss on Dean's nose. "Even if we don't have monsters to fight, even if we already have a home. We will always find our way back to it, no matter how far we drive."

Dean stopped, staring down at his angel. The tightness in his chest returned, but this time it was not unpleasant. He'd begun to think that nothing could be unpleasant anymore. No, this time he knew what it was, and he was overcome, for the first time, with the urge to say it. And, for the first time, he thought that maybe he could.

He connected their lips again, lazily, and allowed gravity to pull them apart just enough that they could speak but lips still touched. "Cas," Dean said matter-of-factly. "I fucking love you."

Cas grinned against his lips. "I fucking love you, too, Dean."

And Dean believed him. His eyes widened as a startled laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, shit. I corrupted an angel."

"I thought we'd established that, Dean," Cas replied, raising his eyebrows. "But I don't hear either of us complaining."

"Hell no," Dean breathed, reaching for his angel. "It's fucking hot."


End file.
